Those Who Watch Over Us - ACIII one shot
by sangchi
Summary: Sarah is lucky that wolves stalk the streets of Boston. ACIII one-shot. Now developed into full story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: OH MY GOD ASSASSIN'S CREED III! Commence the flailing! **

**I had to write this as soon as possible! I love early American history and seeing the trailer I felt so inspired. This is a one-shot, but has the possibility of being a story one day. We'll see what happens though! Expect a new chapter of 'Iron' and 'God's Going to Cut You Down' soon. Chapters for said stories are currently undergoing revisions.**

**CONTAINS SPOLIERS. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL.**

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><p><strong>March 10, 1770 – Boston, Massachusetts<strong>

It was a bitterly cold winter that seemed endless. The howling wind had found its way through the cracks of Sarah Townsend's small little shop. The sun had just gone down and the British would start going after those that disobeyed the curfew. After the Boston Massacre (barely five days ago) the King ordered a tighter patrol of the city. Some welcomed it while others did not.

Sarah Townsend, despite coming from a proud British ancestry, felt rather indifferent to the change. If anything, she felt a mild annoyance with the new guard as it interfered with the commerce of her shop. But what the King commands must be done, and so Sarah swallowed her agitation and carried on with her life.

She was a rather young woman as well to run and manage a shop on her own. After the death of her husband William back in January, Sarah had inherited his dry goods shop. Sarah had only been married to Will for a short while; too short a time to even conceive a child. Regardless, life still carried on. The young brunette walked over the to windows and closed the shutters, signaling that the shop was closed. Business had been exceedingly slow. In her inner most self, Sarah blamed the British and the new strict laws and taxes from Parliament back in England.

Sarah pulled on her dark grey cloak and gloves and stepped out into the crisp air, locking the door shut. The moon was now visibly bright in the sky, giving off a blueish glow to the snow below. Sarah rubbed her cheeks to keep her face warm and began walking towards her home several black from the dock where her shop was. Maybe she should have taken a carriage? A sinking feeling overcame the young woman as she turned the corner on the near deserted street. She could have sworn she saw a shadow pass over the snow from the rooftops.

Sarah casted her green-eyes upward and looked at the nearby buildings. Nothing was there.

Sarah frowned, "Must have been a trick of the light." She continued on, the snow crunching beneath her feet, making her stocking slightly damp. Now the wind started to pick up, slicing through the thick fabric of Sarah's dress and cloak. She shivered beneath her clothes and imagined sitting by a roaring fire, warming herself up as she read her books. Sarah continued walking up the small hill when a small group of voices caught her ear. Even from several feet away they sounded unmistakably English.

Her heart dropped a bit. Who knows what they would do to a woman past curfew? Sarah felt herself tremble in fear from the thought. There were no corners to turn, and any nearby ally ways were too narrow for Sarah to walk through. Any other detour Sarah would take would take her longer to get home. Freeze her feet to the bone, or the other option?

Gathering up her resolve, Sarah continued her way home, looking forward and ignoring the voices as they became progressively louder. They were getting closer and closer in her line of vision, but Sarah still looked on, avoiding eye contact. Once she passed them, their voices dropped.

"Oi," one of them whispered. There were several grunts of approval.

"I wouldn't mind 'aving a go," another harshly whispered.

Sarah quickened her pace. There was a small cutaway coming up that was large enough to a man to fit in. Surely there was enough space between Sarah and the men that she could slip past them? She quickly looked behind her. That was a mistake. They were so close that Sarah could see the small smudges of dirt on their faces. One of them grabbed her arm roughly.

"Where do you think you're going, love?" one of them asked. There were four of them, all clearly more muscular and taller than Sarah. She quickly began assessing the situation. Her brother taught her how to break someone's nose with a single punch, but Sarah wasn't quite sure if her hand would last for four punches to the face.

"I am simply on my way home. Please, I beg you to let me go," Sarah replied in the most calming voice possible. The movement of a shadow on the corner of a nearby house caught her eye. Was it another trick of the light?

"'Ave I seen you before?" another asked leaning close to Sarah's face.

"I run the dried good store, near the docks."

"Ah!" the third snapped his fingers in realization. "I knew I've seen you somewhere! Pretty strange for a young woman to have a her own shop."

"It was my husband's. He left it to me in his will."

"Did he now? Need someone to take it off your hands?" one of the men leered. Sarah wanted to gag. Normally the idea of marriage to her was appealing, but when offered like this? It was enough to make her skin crawl.

"I'm perfectly capable to handle it myself. Now, please, gentlemen," Sarah tried tugging her arm free, but with no success. Another movement of the shadow caught her eye again.

"Are you aware of the curfew, Miss…?"

"Townsend. Sarah Townsend," was the sharp reply.

"Miss Townsend. Orders are that those who do not obey the curfew, are jailed for the night," the man holding Sarah's arm leaned in dangerously close. Sarah coiled away as much as she could. "Something tells me a pretty lass like yourself wouldn't last a day in a jail cell."

The other three sniggered. Sarah with her might gave a hard blow to the man holding her in his face. Her knuckles collided sharply with the bridge of his nose. The sound of bone crunching was appalling, but Sarah had had enough. Picking up her skirts, she sprinted towards the next corner kicking up snow behind her. Curse woman's fashion! How they slowed her down!

The cold air nipped at the exposed skin from Sarah's body, but her main focus was to lose the group of Redcoats following her. The sound of metal clanging against metal drummed in her ears. Sarah ran into a nearby ally way and leaned on the wall, catching her breath. The sound of dying screams filled her ears and she clamped them shut with her hands.

It went on for several more moments before an eerie silence fell. Sarah slowly looked out onto the street and nearly gasped in horror at the sight before her. All four men laid dead at the feet of a man with a white coat trimmed with blue, who also had an assortment of weapons strapped onto him. The snow around the scene was soaked in blood and its pungent odor filled the air.

The killer looked over his shoulder; a hood blocked his eyes, but Sarah could make out a pair of full lips complimented with a bit of stubble and (to her surprise) no scar. The man began to run off and Sarah picked up her dress again, trying to catch up with him.

"Wait!" she called. "Good sir, wait! I want to thank you!" The man disappeared behind the corner, not leaving a trace of his existence. Sarah stood there for a moment, panting. She arched her eyebrow and wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

"What a strange man," she thought aloud. Turning back on the street, the sight of the dead men caught her eye. It would probably be best to not stay at the spot for much longer, lest more soldiers arrive. Sarah walked away in a hurried pace, thinking of the man who saved her life. When trying to read her book, all she could think of was the man's hooded face and how… menacing it looked. Yet, there was a touch of protection to it, as if the man wanted to help and save others. What a strange night it had been.

"Poppycock," Sarah huffed when she caught herself thinking of the man again. Blowing out her candle, she crawled into the warm sheets of her bed, hoping to find peace in her dreams.

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><p>She was rather pretty, he decided. Her hair was the color of honey and her eyes were a bright green, sparkling with ambition and longing. Connor wondered what it was this woman could possibly long for. He had seen her several times; watched her manage the small store, greet customers with a certain grace, and how stubborn she was when it came to business. He had seen her husband too, though Connor never paid him much attention.<p>

Connor observed many people, but this honey-colored haired woman seemed to stick out in his mind more than others. He had returned to Boston in recent events of the massacre that happened. All the thirteen colonies were itching for a revolution, though some tried to stay diplomatic and engaged in peace talks. It wouldn't last long and Connor knew this. Since the Boston Massacre, he's mostly been fighting the guards that picked on the citizens. Connor really was like the wolf, taking out his prey by separating them from the herd and taking care of them one by one.

But this night had gone differently. The assassin was making the usual walkthrough the city when he noticed the woman closing her shop. An attractive woman such as her would probably be in danger for disobeying curfew, so Connor took it upon himself to follow her lest she should get into trouble.

And it reared its ugly head when the woman encountered a small group of Redcoats. He had seen this coming; there were no alternate routes for her to take. Connor readied his tomahawk should anything happen.

They were talking. Even in a dire situation the woman stood her ground. No, wait… Sarah. Her name was Sarah. She gave the man who was holding her arm a punch in the face and soon took the opportunity to runaway.

_Easy_, Connor thought leaping from his rooftop and sticking his hidden blade in the man's throat. It was like a ballet of death and the sound of clanging metal was the music. Connor easily dispatched the guards, thinking they must be new recruits. And then he heard it, her light footsteps as she emerged from her hiding spot. Connor looked over his shoulder. She was prettier up close, but she needed to forget his face. Connor ran off with Sarah following behind him.

"Wait!" she called. The assassin ignored these calls and soon lost her in a sharp turn. Connor quickly climbed up the building and watched from above as Sarah stood there, dumbfounded and panting. Slowly the woman left, abandoning the gruesome scene behind her. Connor may have followed her home, just to be safe. Sometimes Sarah's eyes lost their focus and she began to daydream. She huffed about something before going to bed. No doubt the night's excretions were tiresome.

Once Connor was sure she was fast asleep, he found himself saying, "You're welcome, Sarah." before stalking off into the night.


	2. Announcement

**A/N: With the release of Assassin's Creed 3 and having finished said game within these past couple days, I feel more confidant now writing a story for this one-shot. Expect a story for your eager eyes within the next day or so. If you don't want any spoilers, then don't read it, simple as that.**

**In addition, I'm tweaking some of the ideas I have so that it'll fit the character, Sarah, and the narrative of the game. I pretty much have everything worked out, it's just a matter of getting my lazy butt to update the story. Here's a sneak preview if you care to see it!**

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><p>Sarah Townsend was five years old when her father sat her down on his lap and told her that she was going to marry a "fine man one day." Being so young and idealistic, Sarah had imagined falling in love with a tall and handsome man who would come and sweep her off her feet like the stories she read. Sadly, life is never like a fairytale.<p>

By the time she was fifteen, Sarah's father had arranged a marriage between her and the son of one of his business associates named William. Sarah had met William a few times and thought him rather…plain.

Sure, William was somewhat well versed in literature and seemed to have a sharp mind for business and politics, but he lacked a certain vigor when it came to life and in Sarah's eyes, that made him rather dull.

It was needless to say that Sarah was not enthusiastic about getting married.


End file.
